Merlin in Modernland
by Layarana Haven
Summary: A many, many years ago since the death of the Once and Future King, the legendary Merlin, presiding in the 21st century England where Camelot has become nothing but mythical stories, starts a new journey that may be even more dangerous than the Arthurian Era where he once called home.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"_The King is dead," Sir Leon says, followed by, "Long live the Queen!" _

_The subjects mimic his words in a chant of "Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!"_

The wrinkled eyelids of old man in his 90s blearily opened to reveal ocean blue colored eyes, along with the wisdom, sadness, and determination that came along with it. His head hair, bushy eyebrows, long beard connected with a mustache reached about four to five inches below narrow shoulder and was the color of white dirty paper and a resemblance of not being kept well.

He wore a blue jacket, bluish grey cap, worn out shoes, brown fingerless gloves and two bags slung over and around his shoulders. Nevertheless, he looked homeless.

A long truck blasted past him. The familiar lake came near him the further he walked on the side of the dirt road, yet, when he stopped, as if reminiscing the place once called Avalon and the ruined tower that lay across from it on a small island, he did not look to his left; he just continued forward, heavy steps reflecting the weight on his shoulders.

A black car drove past him next and blared its horn when the old man swayed from his path onto the road.

The driver stops when he is sure that no one was behind him and rolls down the window. A big man in a lumber jack shirt looked tweeked.

"Are you blazen mad, you old croon?" The old man walked slowly still, the car trailing next to him. "Hey you listenin'?"

The man said nothing. The driver snorts. He leans menacingly over the open window with his thick elbow.

"Do us lads all a fava will you? And stay off the road!"

The old man finally turns his head to rumbles of laughter, and this is not what surprised the driver as his laugh dies down, it was the golden eyes that flashed from the croon. The big man retreated back, eyes shining in slight fright, mouth agape, gripping the steering wheel for dear life. Then he rubs his eyes and when he stared back, the gold color was gone to be replaced by ocean blue. The drive sneers, growls and shouts, "Stay off the road!" and drives off.

The old man walks again as if nothing had transpired.

Whatever path the man was taking, he was sure it was here, the last place he wanted to be: Lake Avalon.

If it was not, time would only move forward.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The old man reached to a nearby traditional bar named _The Legends_. The bell chimed as he walked in and discreetly sat down in a table as far back as privacy would earn him.

A waitress in a leather coat jacket and black floral apron approached his table, notepad in hand.

"Can I get you something, luv?" she asked.

"Water, please. And a light beer." he croaked.

"Anything in particular?"

"Miller is fine, thank you."

She scribbled down the order.

"Do you happen to a place I can eat and stay, miss?"

"There's a place close to residential area a couples miles up the road. There's an eatery called _A Thousand Ways Café_. A couple blocks from there is a local bed and breakfast."

"Much thanks."

"Mhmm. Be havin' your order ready in a few."

The old man sat for a few minutes contemplating about where he would find a job. He needed one if he were to continue whatever it is his instincts led him.

"Here ya go, dearie."

He smiled up at her, "Much obliged."

"Yeah," then she strode over to the next table, a child no older than nine and his parents.

"Mum, dad, can we visit King Arthur's Cornwall next?"

The old man's ears perked sullenly.

"James, that's the fourth time you've asked. Your father and I have places in Somerset we need to run to first!" she chided gently. "I'm sure Camelot will still be there by the time we are through. And King Arthur will, as well, it's never too late," she titters.

The man, with his stick fingers intertwined to his mouth, elbows on the table, closed his eyes slowly to block the wrenching feeling in his gut.

Two elder teenage girls behind him in a booth were giggling. "Oh, Margie, did you here?"

"What?" Maggie's friend says back, sounding on the verge of another spasm of giggles.

"Apparently, there is an opening at that huge royal looking library? What's it called?"

"You mean the _Gatekeeper Library_?"

He peeked at them.

Margie snapped her fingers. "That's the one! Heard they're looking to train anyone with an eye for books, no certificate or experience necessary."

The friend looked skeptical as she stirred her tea. "Isn't it hard to get a job there?"

Margie nodded, in disbelief herself. "Yeah, Annie! Maybe they are desperate and no one wants the job, considering the touring season being out and the last person that worked there got fired for stealing."

Annie gasped. "No," she let the 'o' part last for a second.

"No bullocks there. But they're looking for someone young, according to what Han told me. But you wouldn't see me goin' near no books."

Annie laughed.

The man drank his draft first and brought his ice water up to the bar, placing the tab on the wooden panel. The bartender glanced up, in the middle of wiping a beer glass.

"Can I get this in a to-go cup?"

"Uh, sure."

The bartender grabbed the glass.

The old man placed his hand on the panel. "And can you point me to where _Gatekeeper Library_ is, please?"

He was able to get a cab within minutes to get him to the library, which, he discovered, was a few miles down. He walked with purpose. Pedestrians either looked his way, tried to avoid him or both, yet that didn't deter him from what he wanted.

He made sure to hide himself well, especially away from cameras. As he walked passed a particularly thick pillar, he went from homeless man, to a well-dressed young adult with short cropped hair and a red neckerchief wrapped around his wrist.

He entered through the huge stained window glass doors, fixing his blue tie that went well with his brown suit.

The receptionist saw his and had this kind aura to her person, despite how stern the middle aged woman seemed to portray.

"Can I help you?"

"Hello, I am here for the job opening for Head Librarian's Assistant?" Good thing he asked the bartender before he left.

She was already typing into the computer. "Name?"

His smile reached up to his too big ears.

_A rather goofy, adorable one_, thought the lady.

"My name…is Merlin."

She looked taken aback. "You're joking."

He smiled nonetheless. "Wish I was, ma'am."

Her thin grey eyebrows rose as the sounds of typing was heard again. "Merlin…Merlin…" She rose up. "I don't see a "Merlin" here. Very sorry, are you sure you made an appointment?"

Merlin licked his lips. He had no choice. "Here, this might help."

The receptionist looked up as Merlin's eyes turned gold to her then to the computer. Her face became blank. She blinked rapidly.

Unseen by the woman, the screen was going haywire; the place she was searching was scrolling up and down abnormally fast, then stopped, and in an empty space, a name sluggishly was created on the appointment catalog and in black bold print for 11:30 am read:** Merlin**.

Merlin retreated and her blank look turned into a confused one.

"Are you quite sure? If you could please look again, miss?"

"Oh, dear forgive me," she coughed into her fist to hide her embarrassment. Clicking sounded again. The woman's eyes shot wide. "Oh! I…must've missed it. Yes, yes you are here," she stutters.

Merlin's eyes flashed in guilt, though he was hiding it behind a kind stare.

"If you could point me in the right direction?"

She beckoned a girl in a red plaid suit jacket, black skirt, and dark red hair who was flirting with one of the workers, a tall man wearing round glasses, an original copy of _Renaissance Era: Times of Beheading_ on his side, and, if Merlin was right from his first and last lover, the man was blushing profusely.

The girl scowled, saying her good byes to the blushing man, and walked childishly to them. The curious glint was noticeable to the twenty year old.

"Erika, this is. Mind your pardon, but what is your last name?"

"Emerald Mrs.?"

"Burton. A _Miss_ Carlta Burton nee Francis, henceforth, my good for nothing ex-husband is out somewhere that I dare not bother to perceive," she spoke contemptuously. Merlin found that _Miss_ Burton's way of pronouncing out words and her unintentional humor was quite comical. And that stern motherly look about the receptionist reminded him so much of—

He turned to Erika. "Would you mind?"

"Sure. Carlta," she bowed slightly.

Miss Burton cut in smoothly. "That is a Miss Burton to you, Miss Pantry. Considering your _adventures_ in the Artifacts Room with several workers of the opposite gender has procured an image I once accidentally had the unfortunate mishap to come upon…" Erika tightened her red lips, rocking back and forth on her heels and averting her eyes to the Sicilian painting on the ceiling. "I regret to inform you that our familiarity with one another in the present and the future would be as close as a leopard is to a baboon's arse."

Merlin turned his head, snorting a laugh into his fist.

"Now would you please be so kind as to guide Mr. Emerald as to the location of Mr. Commons'?"

Erika wasn't too thrilled about the comment if the pinched look was anything to go by. She adjusted her jacket, at the same time fighting to adjust her dignity. "Follow me please Merlin."

"Ok," he said. He stopped to glance back to Miss Burton. "Thank you Miss Burton!"

She smiled warmly. "Carlta, my dear. At least _you_ can address me, as such."

He tipped his invisible hat, following behind a silently fuming Erika.

The museum/library was amazing. He had never seen so much artwork and collections from all his years of visiting places like these.

_And I visited plenty of them_, he told himself.

There was one painting though that stood out; it was made recently, he could tell, but whoever painted this clearly loved the neo-classical renaissance style use of colors, patterns, and the way canvases were used by artists. He moved a little closer, forgetting about Erika and her muttering of 'stupid bat woman'.

The golden painted placard read: Merlin and Arthur in Camelon.

For some odd reason, this work resembled exactly what happened, unlike what history claims what happened. Merlin standing on a large hill below the battle, lifting his scepter in the sky to the heavens and King Arthur below, fighting for his people, clueless as to what would happen to him.

_You fool._

"Hey!"

"Sorry!" He looked at it one more time, wiping the lone tear with his fingers, sighing then running after the girl.

"So, Miss Burton doesn't like you very much, eh?"

She waves her hand to dismiss. "She needs to get laid, that's all. Tell me Merlin, if that is your real name, how long have you lived in Somerset?"

Merlin paused. "If that is my real name?"

Erika paused, too, suspicious.

"Please, spare me the innocence," she sidled dangerously closer. "I'm not a big believer of reincarnation and you here near Glastonbury and your name being one of the most famous magical beings during Medieval times, not to mention that not only have I checked the appointment log, not once but twice today without your name being on there and then suddenly appearing? Bit of a stretch. I have a good mind to call the authorities for being an imposter."

He got closer to her face, hands behind his back, smiling sardonically. "I think you have spent too much time here being too bored and all that rubbish."

"Have I? Because I have only been here for two years."

"Two years too long, I suppose," he chuckles to himself.

"You are a liar! You most likely have a criminal record!" she spat.

"And even if I was, which obviously I'm not— "

"You are."

"—I'm not." He stands up straight. Erika's perfume was overwhelming his sense of smell. "My mother loved the Arthurian legends. People made fun of me for it. As for the log, a simple technical error."

Erika stood there quietly, contemplating his answer, searching his face for any detection of deception. She didn't trust him, that's for sure, so Merlin had to be careful around her and speak to her as little as possible.

The girl massages her forehead. "Fine. Whatever. I don't care what it is you do. However," she hisses forebodingly. "I see you steal even a sheet of documents, I swear on my hotness' honor, I will expose you."

"It won't happen," he says seriously.

She sighs. "Let's just get you to Mr. Commons. Suddenly, I have a terrible need for a mocha double shot."

Merlin steps aside. "After you, lady warrior."

The girl rolls her eyes, smirking. "This way, _Mer_lin."

She walks away and fails to notice the man's smile instantly falling from his face.

They walk up two flights of crisp red carpet stairs to the top of the huge library that reminded him of a mix between Bristol Central Library here in the UK, the Angelica Library in Rome, and the Rijksmuseum Research Library in Amsterdam. The floor was wide and open and the light that came in brought in enough light to emphasize the painstaking time it took to create the architecture and for the visitors not to have to use the lamps until nightfall.

Erika saw my look, knowing my thoughts. "I know. It's breathtaking isn't it? I've been here for two years and it still gets to me."

"No kidding," Merlin said breathily.

She smiles.

"C'mon. I have a feeling he is in the Parliament History section today."

"Right," he replies dazedly.

Both of them went ahead down the aisles. Behind one huge shelf, a man cursing could be heard in what Merlin recognized was spoken in French.

"Oh no," she moans in distress.

"What?" Merlin's voice is alarmed.

She breaks into a mid-run to where the noise came from. Merlin had a tough time keeping up. "He only cusses in another language if something is seriously wrong! Director! Mr. Commons!"

"I thought he was called head librarian?"

"We only say that as a joke because he spends so much time here—Mr. Commons!"

"Here," quivers Mr. Commons, in the Parliament History section, like Erika predicted.

Erika pants as she reaches to the section and stares down when she spots the man. He was worse for wear, books spread out messily around him, glasses askew, suit rumpled.

"Bobs me uncle, are you ok!" she goes to help him up. Mr. Commons grunts. "What thr bloody hell happened!" she demanded.

He laughs merrily. "I-I slipped on a book."

Erika tsks, fixing him up. "How many times has Miss Burton and I told you to _not_ make a mess of the place, you clumsy oaf!"

"Ooff! Ah, old age, and centuries of history can make one forget the rules, I'm afraid!"

Merlin coughs awkwardly. The girl and man glance up. "Oh, and who is this?" he asks.

Merlin was surprised at the disrespect she was verbalizing to the man. Wasn't he her boss? Yet, he seemed to find it amusing. The scene before him showed that they were comfortable with how they talked to one another.

"You're job appointment, sir."

"Oh? I wasn't informed of this?"

"There seemed to be a…_technical_ issue with our system." She stared meaningfully at Merlin.

He twiddled with his cuffs. "I see. Well, I'm glad we have another candidate. The last one was too arrogant for my taste," he shakes his head disapprovingly. He puts out his hand. "The names Harry Commons, Director of Ancient and Modern Artifacts and History or DAMAH, as this young lady puts it."

Merlin takes his hand and shakes it. "Merlin, sir. Merlin Emerald. Are you alright?"

"Yes thanks. This happens all the time so I expect you to be on your toes at all times!"

"Wait, huh? Does that mean I get the job?"

Mr. Commons pulls out a handkerchief from his sleeve. "You are not thief are you? No? And you asked for my well-being. I could tell you know a great lot about my line of work."

"He's weird like that!" Erika pipes in.

The man hurumphs at her. "Don't you have a tour to get to?"

She flicks her hair. "Shit, I know _my_ cue to leave." She scurries off down the flight of stairs.

"She's a nice girl but sometimes a bit much, even for a girl with teenage hormonal problems." He leaves the books on the floor to stride out of the section and roam the aisles, Merlin in tow. "You see these empty spots in the shelves?"

Merlin does.

"The institution is still in the midst of recovering them from the last employee who worked for me. I should have seen it," he says sadly.

Merlin had the urge to lighten his mood. "No one could have known."

"I should have," the man disagrees. "Should have seen the signs. I am in charge of this place and I did not see that every few weeks, some parts of the collection went missing?"

"Sir—"

"Merlin. I understand that there are bad mixed with good people in this messy world. I'm not as clumsy or blind as to not see that. But growing up, I was raised to see the goodness in people, no matter how twisted and to give the benefit of the doubt. I already made one mistake that could have cost this place, Erika, Miss Burton, and myself our jobs. Don't be the second one I make."

Merlin was touched rather speechless at how dedicated the man was and felt a sort of deep obligation to this stranger who was now his boss.

"I won't be," he finally says.

_Ever again._


End file.
